


Ronald Weasley, the Great Poet: Simple Man, Friend of Harry, Tolerator of Malfoy

by sausaged



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 02:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10584546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sausaged/pseuds/sausaged
Summary: Ron Weasley is a simple man.He just wants to breeze by his last year at Hogwarts and graduate without much fanfare. But in order to do that, he must dutifully completely all his assignments and pass his NEWTS which... isn't the biggest problem. The biggest problem is, where is he going to find ideas for this class he's obviously takingnotbecause Hermione?written for DTH Fest 2017.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for ssounette. i hope you will enjoy! im not sure if this is what you imagined... but... yeah!
> 
> thank you to the DTH mods for once again being patient with me. and thank you to RayneNightshade for beta'ing in my dire time of need!
> 
>  
> 
> prompt #55: Draco Malfoy is up to something, right ? That's why Harry is following him to the Shrieking Shack and to the Prefect's bathroom and to the Astronomy Tower and to the Donjons in the ferret's bedroom... Yeah, I know the Shrieking Shack brrr that's weird... Why are you looking at me like this Hermione ?
> 
> special request(s): Ron's pov (but feel free to change) ; secret relationship between Harry and Draco.

 

 

Ron Weasley is a simple man.

Take breakfast, _the_ most important meal of the day, for example: at The Burrow, he enjoys his six slices of hogglewheat toast smeared with elderberry jam, a little bit on the browner side, with scrambled eggs (still slightly runny), lots of bacon and ham, and two glasses of pumpkin juice.

 _Voila_. Simple.

So, of course, this simplicity also extends to school, where he strives to maintain his grade point average by taking some seemingly easy courses for his electives.

And ever since they started offering Special Topics in 5th Year, Ron has been all about expanding his knowledge and becoming a more tolerant and worldly wizard. Last year, it had been _F_ _eminism in the Wizarding World_. The year before, it had been _Are House Elves Truly Necessary?_. Neither of these selections had _anything_ to do with Hermione Granger, no. Absolutely not.

Which is why Ron is currently sucking at the end of his quill, staring down at his course selections for his 7th Year with intense concentration.

 

“Ron,” Hermione says, looking over his shoulder to frown at all his choices. “You’re not going to be taking _this_ class, are you? _The In-Depth History of Quidditch_? How will this ever be helpful for your Auror application?”

“Bugger _off_ , Hermione,” Ron mumbles, folding his arms over his paper childishly. “Why do you keep thinking I want to be an Auror anyway? What if I want to become a spectacular Quidditch commentator?”

“Well, _do you?_ ”

“… I’ve… thought about it.”

“ _Ron,_ we’re going to be graduated come this time next year! You’ve got to be more serious about your future!” Ron is silent as Hermione marches around the table and seats herself across from him with a huff.

From the kitchen, two glasses of pumpkin juice float precariously into the dining room, setting themselves onto the table with a dull clink. “Now, sweetheart. Listen to what Hermione has to say.”

Ron flushes to the tips of his ears at Hermione’s smug grin. “Mum! _I’m_ your son!” Whipping back to his course sheet, Ron’s frown deepens into a scowl. “Not all of us are outstanding students like you, Hermione. You really need to lay off—“

“Well, Gilderoy Lockhart wasn’t like that when _he_ was in school,” Hermione sighs aloud, heaving her shoulders dramatically. Then, in an almost deliberate manner, she nudges a brand-new hardcover book closer into his peripheral vision with her elbow as she stretches languidly. “He’s just _so_ perfect. Last year, he wrote that beautiful piece about the lack of feminism in the Wizarding World… and remember that time when I went to his book signing like five times? He really inspired me with his fantastic research into house elves and if we really need them.”

Oh, yes. Ron remembers. He remembers that _really_ well.

He narrows his eyes, glaring down at the royal blue velvet cover. In the middle of the cover sits a picture of Lockhart, posing with his foot on a leather-bound stool, aqua blue cape draping over his lean frame, his smile as bright as the sun itself. Picture-Lockhart then aims a finger gun towards him, winking as he fires and blows a kiss. Ron shivers in disgust, gooseflesh raising on his arms as his eyes flicker towards the title of the book, _Marvelous and Other Worldly Words for You, a Collection of Original Muggle Poetry_ , inscribed atop the picture on the cover in gold ink and fancy cursive.

What?

“Oh, Hermione! Is that Gilderoy Lockhart’s new book?” Ron watches as his mother picks up the book, cooing at the cover. “Look at how _handsome_ he is!”

“Yes, Mrs. Wealsey,” Hermione props her elbows on the table and rests her head in her open palms. “ _And_ it’s a collection of muggle poetry!”

“How _romantic_.”

Ron stares at them before glancing down at his course selection sheet, scowl further deteriorating into something fierce.

In the section, Special Topics, right below _The In-Depth History of Quidditch_ , sits another selection. _Muggle Studies: An Exploration of Love through Poetry_.

Twirling his quill, Ron quickly scribbles out the check mark for his Quidditch history course and ticks the poetry class instead.

He’ll show Hermione.

He’ll be the greatest poet _ever_.

As he finishes checking in the rest of his course selection onto the parchment, the telltale whoosh of the Floo alerts him of Harry’s arrival. He grins, standing as the parchment rolls itself into a scroll, disappearing with a soft pop.

 

Ron Weasley is a simple man.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“In this year, you will need to complete five assignments on the topic of _love_ using whatever form of muggle poetry you will learn in this class.”

Ron tickles his nose with his quill, covering up a yawn expertly with a duck of his head as if he is taking notes.

“It can be about any form of love as well. About family, friends, hobbies… etcetera. They are to be hand written, not by a Quick-Quotes Quill or anything of the sort.”

Ron hums. Love, huh?

He spends the rest of the lesson wondering what it would’ve been like if he had just not given into his pride and had taken _The In-Depth History of Quidditch_ with Harry instead.

 

 

Ron’s journey for love starts from where his heart calls— the Hogwarts kitchens— a week before the first assignment is due, a month and a half into the school year.

Tickling the pear, he slinks into the kitchen, high-fiving a few elves before seating himself on a bench.

“What can we do for you, Mr. Weasley?” Twinkle smiles up at Ron, twisting her gnarly fingers into her apron while toeing a circle into the stone floor abashedly.

Ron returns the smile with a weary grin, laying his face down onto the table sullenly. “Oh, just… don’t mind me. But if you’ve got some steak and kidney pie left over, I wouldn’t mind some of that.”

Watching Twinkle scuttle off, Ron sighs softly to himself. He is ready to be done with school. Homework, quizzes, exams, buttfuck early Quidditch practices, and the constant reminder of NEWTS looming over his head... None of this is really good for his health. And now, that poetry assignment that was supposed to be _so_ easy is being burnt to a crisp on the back burner of his mind where he had put it the moment he heard about it.

Of course, this assignment would be easy peasy lemon squeezy if _only_ he had a muse.

“C’mon, in here.”

Ron perks up at the sound of Harry’s voice, about to call out when—

“Why do you insist on such a _dirty_ place?”

Oh, Merlin. Ron would recognize that voice _anywhere_. He stands up as quickly and as quietly as he could, frantically looking for a place to hide before they reach him. He manages to squeeze himself in between two cupboards piled with dusty cardboard boxes, his back facing where he was sitting just moments ago.

“Shut up, Malfoy. You know why we’re meeting here.”

_Harry is going to beat his pompous ass, that’s what!_

“Whoa, Potter. Calm down. You’re not going to take me out _here_ are you?”

“Don’t worry, Malfoy. I’ll take you out somewhere else. There’s no need to trouble the house elves with the messy clean up.”

Ron gulps. _Messy?_ Harry’s magic is well-known school-wide as powerful. He’ll definitely make good on that promise.

The two threaten each other for a few more minutes before leaving the kitchens with whatever their duel (fight?) required.

“Ron Weasley, sir?” Ron is startled out from his pondering, staring down at Twinkle who is offering a fresh plate of steak and kidney pie with a shy smile.

“Oh, uh… thanks.” He wriggles himself out from between the cupboards and dusts off his robes before taking the plate from the elf. “On second hand, do you mind taking this up to the Common Room for me? I’ve got some homework I haven’t finished.”

 

 

“Hermione, you’ve _got_ to believe me! Harry’s going to be in a fight and we’ve got to help him!”

“Ron, we’re not in 5th Year anymore. Harry’s got more important things to do than to indulge in his petty rivalry with Malfoy. For example, his NEWTS. Because you know _who’s_ going to be an Auror? Not _you_ , Ron.”

Ron runs his hands through his hair with a frustrated sound before forking another piece of pie into his mouth.

Okay, so maybe Hermione’s calm demeanor is making him feel like he’s overreacting because Harry can most definitely handle himself. BUT! If Harry is to actually fight Malfoy (everyone knows that Slytherins don’t fight _fair_ )…

“Oh, hey guys. What are you doing up so late?”

Ron’s head snaps up to the entrance of the Common Room, blinking at Harry who is currently straightening out his rather dishevelled robes. He flies over to where his best friend is standing. “Harry? Where have you been? It’s late, isn’t it? Are you hurt?”

Harry merely _laughs_ at his questions (after a fight? That must mean he’d won!). “Are you okay, Ron? I’m fine. I was down in the kitchens grabbing some treacle tart earlier. I brought a few back— do you want some?”

Hermione looks up from where her head is buried in a thick-looking Ancient Runes textbook. “No thanks, Harry. But maybe Ron would like some?”

Ron blinks owlishly at them both before shaking his head. “Oh, no thanks. Recently, I’ve been noticing that treacle tarts make me fart.”

“Oh,” Harry winces. “That’s too bad… I hope you can enjoy them again soon. Anyway, I’m going to turn in for the night. I’ve had a rough day. Goodnight.”

Once Harry leaves the room (sort of limping, but hey), Hermione swivels to Ron with an obvious expression of _”See, nothing happened”_ before turning back to her textbook.

Ron sits back down at his own table in front of his steak and kidney pie before sighing. Well, at least Harry’s not _that_ hurt.

 

 

_Roses are red,_  
Violets are blue.  
Harry’s favourite treacle tarts  
Are tasty but they induce farts.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Right before the second assignment is due; Ron receives his first one back with a giant O, written in the shape of a heart, across the parchment. Of course, Ron wastes _no time_ before waving his assignment in Hermione’s face.

“I can’t believe you got an O on that.”

Ron grins. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m a _fantastic_ poet.”

“It’s plagiarism, Ronald Weasley!”

“No, it’s not! It’s an intellectual rearrangement of one of the most well-known poems on Earth!”

Harry slaps Ron on the back with a laugh. “It’s intellectual, all right. What other assignments can you think of that would get an O even though the word _fart_ is on it?”

In the middle of their banter, Ron catches a glimpse of platinum blond hair purposefully striding across the courtyard in hurried, confident steps. He turns his head to Harry, whose green eyes are sparkling with ~~interest?~~ suspicion as they track the Slytherin’s movements.

“Harry?” Ron watches carefully as Harry shakes himself out of a trance.

“Oh, uh. I just remembered I’ve got something to do. I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch!”

“Oh, all right. Good luck with your studies in the library, Harry!” Hermione calls after Harry’s retreating back, readjusting her book bag before sauntering forward.

“ _Hermione,_ ” Ron hisses, pulling at her sleeve. “Do you not think that there’s something _weird_ going on?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Quit over-thinking things, Ron. I know you have a free period right now— so you should really get started on that second poem of yours. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Ron can only stare at Hermione’s back as she continues through the courtyard, confused as to why she isn’t concerned about Harry’s well-being when he is _obviously_ involved with that slimy git somehow (and very likely _not_ in a good way).

But alas, as his best friend, Ron must believe in Harry’s strength (and he does try, but he still remembers that time Malfoy made him puke slugs).

 

 

About fifteen minutes later, Ron finds himself at the edge of the Great Lake, observing the tranquil scene with a watchful eye for anything that might evoke the elusive emotion called _love_ from within him.

Nothing.

He casts a quick _Tempus_ to reveal that only a mere few minutes had passed since his last attempt to image something thought-provoking and _deep_. He lays his back onto the damp green grass, staring up at the blue sky for a moment before— wait. Is that Harry flying without permission? Ron quickly sits up again, squinting as he makes out the tiny outline of his friend spiraling in the sky. Behind him, is another tiny outline of… is that… _Malfoy_?

As if sensing his mind is about to overload, the Giant Squid emerges from the Great Lake, breaking the water (and whatever peace is around the lake) like a whale as it sails a few meters in the air. Wrapped in its tentacles, is _the_ biggest and ugliest fish that Ron has _ever_ seen in his life. This moment only lasts a few more seconds, and leaves Ron entranced for a few more seconds before he remembers Harry and Malfoy racing each other in the sky. But when he looks back up, they’re gone.

Huh.

 

 

He hands in his second assignment later that week— a shape poem outlining the ever so elegant curves and twists of the Giant Squid with the repetitive word of _fish_ filling in the image.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Oh, this is fantastic, Ron!”

“You meant ‘ _O_ , this is fantastic, Ron,’ right?”

Hermione sends him a look so lethal; he might’ve been petrified if she were a giant snake living in the rumored Chamber of Secrets beneath Hogwarts. But everyone knows that basilisks are extinct, so there’s no way that’d ever happen.

“If this is what I get for complimenting you, then don’t expect another one from me.”

“C’mon, Hermione,” Ron brushes off her comment with a simple wave of his hand, flopping into an overstuffed red couch in the Common Room with gusto. “Live a little for the puns! Let me enjoy my moment as the Great Poet, Ronald Weasley.”

“You do know that many ‘great poets’ die before they become great, right?” Hermione rolls her eyes, floating Ron back his assignment before pulling open another thick tomb (this time about Potions). “So, what are you planning on writing for your third poem?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about love anyway. Maybe I’ll write about my family or something. Maybe friends? Harry’ll be a good muse, don’t you think?”

“What about _me_ , Ron?”

“What _about_ you, Hermione?”

“Are you serious?”

Ron shrugs. “Well, I’m sure I’m just as good looking for you to be mistaken. However, I am but a Weasley.”

Hermione stares him down with a stern glare. “Shut the _fuck_ up, Ronald Wealsey, or I’ll _turn_ you into a great poet.”

 

 

But the fact _is_ that his third poem is proving to be a struggle.

Why did he think it was a good idea to procrastinate until the second last day of the holidays when he knew that the assignment is due the moment they return? Ron can only stare at his blank piece of parchment and will it to write itself.

Well, going home for winter spells an excellent opportunity for him to find a muse to write his third poem, but it really isn’t his fault that _nothing_ rhymes with Chudley. Of course, he can try out one of those free-form poems without all that really cool rhyming jazz, although if he is to surpass Gilderoy Fucktard, he cannot let this simple obstacle stand in his way.

Barely noticing the soft shuffle of feet coming closer, Ron nearly jumps at the sound of Harry’s voice by his ear. “Hey, Ron. Do you think I can borrow Pigwidgeon for a bit? Hedwig’s out hunting right now and I really need to send this off.”

“Sure,” Ron breathes out with a grin, turning around to face his best friend. Glancing at the envelope in Harry’s hands, Ron feels a little more mischievous than he did a moment ago. “What the hurry for, Harry? Sending a love letter?”

Ron blinks as Harry looks just a little pinker than before (but the candlelight isn’t perfect for noticing details). “Uh… no. It’s just. Uh… a letter for someone.”

“Oh, okay.”

 

 

“He was _so_ suspicious, Hermione! I mean, of course I didn’t pry who the letter is for, but you know? I’m his best friend and he’s not telling me about this!”

“Why are you so obsessed about this, Ron? What if Harry does have someone he wants to be with and he’s not comfortable with telling you who it is?”

Ron’s face twists into something that he’s not used to because he can feel his muscles pull in an awkward way. “… But why wouldn’t he be comfortable telling me?”

“ _Because_ , Ron, it might have somethi—”

Suddenly, something terrible passes through Ron’s mind and he blanches in terror. “Wait, Hermione. I think I get it. _What if it was a challenge letter for Malfoy?_ What if Harry doesn’t want to involve me in his feud with Malfoy? It makes _so_ much sense now. Ugh! Why didn’t I think of this in the first place!”

Hermione eyes him with something akin to pity before flicking her bushy hair over her shoulder and turning back to her homework.

“What?”

“Ron, isn’t your poetry assignment due tomorrow? Last time I heard from Harry, he said that you were too busy playing Paper Quidditch over the holidays to be doing your work.”

Fucking _traitor_!

 

 

_Cheers erupt throughout the stands,_  
As the Chasers race towards the goals.  
The crowd holds in their baited breath,  
Since the other team’s got no holes.  
But when the quaffle flies through the hoop of hope,  
The fans jump up with glee.  
It’s another win for the Chudley Canons this year,  
They’re the real champions, you see.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Needless to say, Ron achieves yet another Outstanding for his poem (and a scrawled _beautiful_ alongside his score).

“You know that really popular muggle song about love? Something about a baby hurting someone? I think it’s sort of morbid in a very romantic way! You can write about that!”

“No, Neville. I’m not writing about a baby hurting anyone.” Ron reaches over a plate of mashed potatoes for another chicken leg. “There’s nothing lovely about that.”

“You know, Ron. I’m sure you can gather all these poems you’ve written and publish a book or something,” Dean pipes up from his seat a few Gryffindors away from Ron. “My mum’s been raving about Lockhart’s new poetry collection about how it’s the most romantic thing ever. I even heard her saying that it makes her wetter than—”

“ _Whoa!_ Stop there, Dean. We have no business in that department,” Ron pulls at his collar with an oily finger surreptitiously, eyes flickering further down the table where Hermione is staring at him with a knowing and disapproving eye despite her being beyond earshot of what Dean had just said.

Dean shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“Nah, we don’t talk about women that way. They talked about it in that feminism class last year, remember?” Harry nudges Ron with an elbow. “Hey, by the way, do you mind passing the treacle tart?”

“Besides,” Neville cocks his head at Dean. “Do you _really_ want to talk about your mum’s bodily functions?”

“Well, I suppose not,” Dean winces, “Even though I passed through there when I was younger, I don’t plan on revisiting any time soon.”

Ron snorts a little too hard at that comment and the chicken he is chewing attempts to violently exit his body through his nasal cavity. Alarmed by this turn of events, he flails wildly until he finds purchase on Harry’s robes, tugging furiously until he can feel Harry thumping him wildly on the back. Throughout his choking, Ron can hear Dean gasping for laughter in the background and Neville telling Ron to drink water while splashing half the cup of it into his face. After a few intense minutes (he swears saw his dead Aunt Marjorie waving in the distance for a moment when his eyes rolled back into his head), Ron manages to swallow the offending piece of chicken and wipes his face with his sleeves before turning around to thank Harry.

Through the tears in his eyes, he can see Harry staring intently across the Great Hall towards the Slytherin table, green eyes narrowing in concentration. “Harry?” Ron rasps out before he follows Harry’s gaze secretly (as secret as he can be sitting beside his best bud), landing on a blond who’s currently licking a spoon clean of its sweet pudding residue in a _very_ threatening manner.

 _Later,_ Malfoy mouths at Harry with a smirk. Beside him, Harry just shakes his head, glares, and flips Malfoy the bird.

 

 

“Listen, Hermione,” Ron says for what he feels like is the thousandth time since the beginning of this school year, “I think Malfoy is up to something and Harry is trying to figure it out.”

“ _Why_ are you still thinking about this, Ron? I thought you didn’t want to be an Auror.”

“I don’t understand why me trying to find out if my best friend is in trouble has anything to do with my being an Auror.”

“All this investigating and baseless theories…” Hermione combs her fingers through her hair with one hand, twirling her wand in the other idly. “You know, you’re not half bad at this detective thing. You really should go for that Auror programme.”

“Why don’t you _ever_ take me seriously, Hermione? I’m seriously worried about _our_ friend here. Did you see how I put emphasis on _our_? Yeah, that’s right. You should be concerned, too! What if he really _is_ in trouble? Nothing good ever comes out with mucking around with Malfoy other than _slugs_.”

Hermione sighs. “Ron, come back to me after you’ve thought about your fourth assignment, okay? We’re really _really_ too close to our NEWTS for me to deal with this and I have a twenty inch paper on Goblin Treaties due three months from now that I need to get started on.”

 

 

Treacle tart _still_ makes his stomach go bonkers.

This upsetting discovery finds Ron when he is worshiping a porcelain god in one of the many bathrooms in the dungeon.

This is _absolute_ bollocks.

He’d had no prior case before! Could it be some sort of intolerance that is building up inside him?

He bounces his leg, annoyed at his current predicament and wondering if he should visit Madam Pomfrey when he nearly jumps (but he didn’t, _thank Merlin_ ) at the sound of the bathroom door slamming open, followed by two sets of footsteps that stumble along the tiled floor of the bathroom as the door clicks shut behind them.

“Shh… You don’t want anyone to hear us… Do you, Potter?”

_That voice…!_

Ron hears a grunt in reply and nearly jumps again (he really only wants to take a dump in peace) when the separators suddenly shake as a dull thud of something slamming into one of the far stalls reverberates throughout the room. There are more noises and hisses and growls as Harry and Malfoy continue their scuffle outside of his sacred place. Half tempted to wipe and assist his friend, Ron reaches for the toilet paper when he feel an uneasy churn inside his stomach.

_Plop._

“Shit, there’s someone in here,” Malfoy pants, probably out of breath from losing to Harry. “We’ll continue this later, Potter. Don’t forget.”

Ron can hear the door open as the first set of footsteps leave the bathroom. A few moments pass before the second set follows, and Ron can finally breathe again.

He wrinkles his nose.

God, that treacle tart didn’t do _any_ good at all.

His fourth poem is dedicated to a lost love.

 

 

_My heart is a void._  
So deep my sorrow stretches, so dark the future is.  
Without you in my life, all meaning extinguished.  
Forever I long for our meaning.  
Your sweetness, your beauty,  
All but a shadow.  
A shadow that leaves me craving and wishing.  
My heart is a void.

 

 

***

 

 

 

“This is about treacle tart.”

Ron doesn’t understand why Hermione isn’t impressed by his greatest work yet. For you see, Ronald Weasley is a pretty good poet (if he might say so himself).

In fact, he is possibly _the_ best poet he knows, considering that he doesn’t know anyone else in his Muggle Studies class. He admits that he might’ve been a little too hasty about signing up for this class at first (it was _not_ because he wanted to show Hermione that Lockhart is nothing special), but he really feels like it’s awaken something inside of him that he never knew existed.

“… Yes. Yes, it is.”

Hermione lays down the parchment and blows her bangs out from her eyes, leaning against her chair. “Well, your writing definitely has gotten a lot better since September.”

Ron grins cheekily, winking over at Harry who is sitting by the fireplace, watching their exchange over the top of an upside down Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. Harry returns Ron’s grin with a subtle thumbs up.

Two hours pass by before Ron stands up for a stretch, watching as Harry does the same.

“I’ve got to go meet my group for a project we’re doing.”

Ron nods, waving at Harry as his friend packs up his belongings into his book bag. Hermione calls out a _see you later_ after Harry who waves in acknowledgement.

A few seconds tick by before Hermione looks up at Ron. “Well? Aren’t you going to go after him?”

Ron raises an eyebrow, confused. “Why would I? Harry’s just doing a project.”

“Are you…” Hermione presses her forehead into her textbook with a loud sigh. “Go after him.”

“But why?”

“ _Go._ ”

 

 

Ronald Bilius Wealsey, Great Poet, Friend of Harry, Private Eye.

Not a bad title to die with, he supposes, if he were to die a sudden (hopefully painless) death.

Ron tucks his hands behind his head as he saunters down the hallway with a yawn. What could possibly be _so_ interesting about Harry’s project that Hermione wants him to see anyway?

He tails Harry’s shadow and frowns when he’s led to the entrance to the dungeons.

Dungeons? Do people like to meet for projects here?

Something about going to the dark damp dungeons makes Ron tiptoe down the stairs carefully, as if Snape is going to descend upon him like a giant bat in the night and suck all the House Points out of him. But _because_ he was tiptoeing down the staircase, he manages to pick up a soft murmur just around the corner a little past the bottom of the staircase.

“Can’t you just _tell_ Weasley about us? I’m really tired of meeting in these weird places. I mean, even our _parents_ have met.”

Ron peeks around the corner, squinting at the sharp glow of two wand tips that lights up a small portion of the dim corridor.

Harry throws up his arms indignantly. “It’s not _that_ easy, Malfoy! You made him throw up _slugs_ that one year—”

“Jesus, Potter, calm down. Besides, _I_ wasn’t the one who fired that curse. Weasley isn’t _that_ much of a dick to hold a grudge for that long…” Malfoy pauses, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “Is he?”

Harry just stares Malfoy down in the same way that Hermione often does to him and Ron feels a slight twinge of pity for the blond. “Anyway, I’m going to keep it a secret until I’m ready to tell him.”

“Granger knows.”

“Hermione knows _everything._ ”

“And _the whole school knows,_ Potter.”

“They _don’t_.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes in reply. He then shrugs his shoulders elegantly before snaking an arm around Harry’s waist and backing Ron’s best friend into a wall, towering over Harry with whatever height advantage he has. “Well, they’ll know by the morning.”

Ron shudders, mentally shaking himself before the image can be conjured up by his rather vivid imagination. He takes the cue to turn swiftly around on his heel, mind reeling with the new information as he (again) quietly tiptoes his way back up the flight of staircase.

About a corridor and a half away from the Gryffindor Common Rooms though, he runs into Snape.

“Five points from Gryffindor for smelling like foul treacle tart.”

_Great._

 

 

Ron lets this information he’s obtained brew for a few days.

It is as if someone had suddenly flipped on the light switch in a dark room.

Harry’s constant disappearance and dishevelled reappearances, bruises that are in places that bruises don’t usually bloom, Harry’s rather extended trips to the Shrieking Shack and the Astronomy Tower past curfew… All of this _makes sense_ now.

This revelation does nothing to alleviate the weird feeling that is stirring in Ron’s stomach, however, when Harry continues to pretend that there is no secret affair going down between him and Malfoy.

He doesn’t tell Hermione about what he witnessed that night either because somehow, Hermione _knows_. She knew from the start! She had only regarded his return with a simple nod and a glance up at the House Points counter hanging in the Common Room.

“Snape?” She had asked.

“Snape.” He had replied.

Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary really changes other than the fact that he cannot _stand_ how awkward it is when he _knows_ that Harry is lying but he has to pretend he doesn’t know (he may be Outstanding at poetry, but drama really isn’t his forte).

Of course, he doesn’t really think that there is a problem with Malfoy (actually, there are a _lot_ of things wrong with Malfoy, but Ron is rather good at lying to himself), so he still isn’t sure why Harry hasn’t said anything about his relationship just yet.

All he wants is his best friend to be happy (that much is the truth).

 

 

A few days turn into a few weeks of thinking and waiting, and Ron finally decides to take action.

His best friend is most definitely worth more than a grade school grudge and three buckets full of slugs.

 

 

He turns in his fifth and last poetry assignment, and is rewarded with Triple-O’s (is that even a real score?) and a drawing of a chicken (why?).

Before rubbing it in Hermione’s face though, he manages to track down Harry taking a walk (with Malfoy) down a small path leading towards Hagrid’s Hut.

“Weasley,” Malfoy greets rather civilly, only raising an elegant eyebrow at the piece of parchment in Ron’s hand.

“R-Ron!” Harry exclaims, looking rather shifty as he tries to untwine his fingers from Malfoy’s (and Malfoy not allowing him by holding on tighter). “What’s up?”

Wordlessly, Ron slaps the parchment against Harry’s chest before smirking at Malfoy. “Malfoy,” he greets in return before turning to Harry. “Come and find me when you’re ready.” He turns around and heads back up the path towards the castle, humming a song softly under his breath and marvelling at the perfect weather today.

He briefly wonders if he should ask Hermione if she would like to hang out with him at Hogsmead next weekend before thinking about what they are going to have for supper.

 

 

**LoVE: a Manifesto**  
Love is perhaps the most **powerful** force on this planet.  
It lives on in all organic matter and delves deep into the psyches of humans alike.  
It drives us, it pulls us, it inspires us, and it makes us want to **live**.  
Love is perhaps the most **diverse** emotion on this planet.  
In the physical: we can love pets, hobbies, friends, families, lovers, and etcetera.  
In the abstract: we can forgive, be thankful, and etcetera.  
There are so many forms of love.  
Love is what **builds** us, **changes** us, and **makes** us who we are.  
Take the first step and don’t be afraid.  
With **love** by your side, you are **invincible**.

 

 

 

Malfoy dips his head further down the poem, squinting at the tiny post script etched into the parchment.

_I will fucking rip off your balls if you hurt him, Malfoy._

Malfoy grins.

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

“I wonder when Lockhart will finally put out that dirty book of poems he’s been talking about in his interviews with the Daily Prophet.”

Molly fluffs her hair as she peeks around Hermione, glancing down the line of giggling witches all clutching onto their pristine copies of _Marvelous and Other Worldly Words for You, a Collection of Original Muggle Poetry_ to their chests.

“I hear that it may be sometime next year,” a new voice joins the conversation, startling both Hermione and Molly out of their musings. The witch behind them pulls down her expensive-looking sunglasses and tucks them into the sleeve of her dark purple robes.

“Narcissa!”

“Mrs. Malfoy!”

“I’ve heard from inside sources that he’s already written half his manuscript.”

Hermione twirls a lock of hair in her finger with a dreamy sigh. “I think Ron’s going to be editing that, since his Muggle Studies professor recommended him. He isn’t telling me _anything_ about it though.”

“I thought he wanted to be an Auror or a Quidditch Commentator?” Molly looks over at Hermione, tilting her head. “That boy never tells me anything!”

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you know how he really likes to keep things simple. He doesn’t want to make baseless assumptions during investigations for leads, and he doesn’t want to translate his hobbies into work. He says poetry is his _passion_ now. He doesn’t really need to think; just _feel_.”

Narcissa’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “Well, then. I’ll be looking forward to chatting with him about the book at Harry and Draco’s wedding.”

The three witches giggle and continue to converse as the line slowly inches forward towards the entrance of Flourish & Blotts.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! all kudos, comments, and bookmarks are appreciated! i hope you enjoyed!
> 
>  
> 
> from the [DTH Fest on LJ](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/336871.html).


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